Day 723[1] in Jerrica's Labyrinth
Third up on the Watch Cam feed was the Prodigy Prince of the North—Luda Braye. My boy stepped through that portal with the smooth arrogance of a man born into reverence, and not just because of his bloodline. Luda was more than 'some' royalty—he was family. Adopted into the Mikazuki Clan through blood, battle, and that loyalty we never questioned. On the battlefield totem pole, Luda held equal footing with Steez, both standing firmly in second place behind me. And that wasn't a knock. Tied for second in a group like ours meant you could crush most empires in a single afternoon.
He stepped out of the portal like he was steppin' onto a runway—two smooth strides and a glance around that said he owned whatever land his boots touched. The planet he was dropped into wasn't some craggy hellscape like Alex's or Artamis's. Nah. This place looked like Gaia's prettier cousin. Rolling grasslands stretched to the edge of the horizon, each blade of grass whispering secrets in the breeze. Thick pine trees lined the edges of the field, their shadows swaying with the wind like they were keeping rhythm to some distant beat. The air smelled of wild herbs and sap, crisp and clean like a brand-new start. And overhead? Not moons, but two red dwarf suns—painting the sky in a gradient of soft pinks and deep ceruleans, giving the whole scene a surreal, otherworldly glow. It looked like twilight never ended here, like this land had been painted instead of born.
Luda took it all in, breathing slowly, savoring the light and warmth. His emerald green hair danced with the breeze like it had been waiting for this moment. After being cooped up in the shadowy guts of the dungeon, that first breath of fresh air was like tasting freedom.
"Feels good to feel some sun on my face."
He let the words slip with a sigh, and you could feel the smile behind them. But just as quickly as peace arrived, it was broken.
A sudden surge of energy jolted through his senses—his [Sense Presence] ability flaring on high alert. For a moment, his stance shifted—ready for a fight—but then... familiarity washed the tension away. The mana signature wasn't foreign. It was me.
An indigo tear in space opened ahead of him, swirling like a whirlpool made of silk and starlight. Out of it dropped a tightly wrapped cobalt cloth bundle and two mnemonic crystals, each shaped into a crescent moon—the same shape as my vessel mark. Luda caught them easily, raising a brow.
"Xiro?" he muttered, catching the gifts before they hit the grass. "What is all this?"
The moment he touched the first crystal, it lit up, casting a soft blue glow. A message projected from it in my handwriting, calm and clean:
"Time to update the look. Here's something I've worked on. –Xi."
He blinked, taken aback—not at the message, but how fast I had managed it. We'd only been apart a few minutes, and here I was, out here playing cosmic stylist. Picking up the second crystal, he activated it. This one hit different—it was a breakdown of the new gear.
Addiction – Forged from enchanted Starlite and Obsidium. Capable of self-repair and evolution. Boosts both physical and magical defense. Special Enchantments: Astral Protection
Luda let out a quiet laugh, genuinely impressed. "Here I thought Art was the blacksmith. This looks incredible."
Inside the bundle was the new outfit: a sleek obsidian short-sleeved shirt with white trim, layered over a navy blue Under Armor bodysuit. But what made it? That sleeveless duster coat was draped like it had been stolen from royalty and raised by assassins. Built into the neck was a face mask, subtle but effective—Luda's signature scarf had gone missing, so this was perfect for keeping his identity low-key. He didn't expect many in this labyrinth to recognize him, but still, when you were royalty, secrets mattered, especially when your last name was Braye.
His trip back to Velonica in 1995 hadn't been a vacation. His mother, Queen Dee, had sent him for training, ordered him to study under Vericka herself, and to earn a Lord Seed from the labyrinth in the southern reaches of Arcadia. He came down to obey—but he stayed for more than duty. Talasi gave him something greater than power: a second family.
I became his rival—the kind that pushed him beyond what he thought possible. Artamis and Steez opened his mind to genius beyond raw might, while Alex and Kimmi reminded him that power could come fearlessly and loudly. We showed him the world didn't run on royal blood—it ran on will, hunger, and the bonds you made along the way.
After the chaos with Taurus, Luda saw what divine strength really meant. Not in bloodline, not in birthright, but in survival.
And now? Now he had evolved.
The Celestial Prince wasn't the same boy who first entered the labyrinth. With an SS-Class Battle Power, an additional V-Skill, and a newly forged Spirit Weapon—the Meridian Goddess—he was a walking fortress. Luda was now ready to return to Braye... he was ready to lead it.
He paused, the quiet between breaths giving space to memory.
"I wonder what's been going on at home? It's been ages since I've seen my little brother, Swamp... or my big sis, Reesha. I hope Mother is doing well."
The Kingdom of Braye had always stood apart. Since its founding by Garland Braye, it had been a haven for Celestials after the infamous skyfall of Velonica. Over time, it grew into one of the most advanced Sociovore Nations in Gaia. For centuries before, Braye followed a patriarchal rule—Warrior-Kings leading legions of elite male fighters, leaving the often more magically-inclined women in secondary roles. Not arrogance, it was strategy. Pure biology favored the men in combat durability, and Braye didn't care about the politics of the world—it cared about results.
Of course, in a world like Gaia, where female-led nations dominated, that kind of logic wasn't popular. Emotions shaped decisions. And war. And politics. Sometimes to beautiful ends. Most times... well. You get it.
But Braye survived. No—thrived. Their vineyards filled goblets across the continent. Their military broke sieges with a week's planning and a night's execution. And with Luda at the helm?
Braye was about to become something more.
Something legendary.
After equipping his obsidium-laced armor, fashioned with hardened lightsteel threads and padded with cobalt mythril cloth beneath, Luda adjusted the clasps of his custom battle suit. The fabric hissed faintly as it settled over his body, enchanted to absorb shock and nullify minor magick. Each buckle and snap echoed softly under his breath, the sounds oddly grounding in the growing tension around him. The silver sigils woven into his outfit glimmered briefly before fading, camouflaging into the threads as he lowered his mana signature. He had to vanish beneath the radar, dropping it until even an E-Class scout would overlook him.
As his face cover sealed with a quiet click, he felt his senses sharpen. A soft hum resonated in the back of his skull—[Sense Presence] activating like a radar ping. And then, he picked them up.
"These are very weak signatures coming from the East. Why are there so many of them gathered together?"
The thought gripped his curiosity like a whisper from a shadow. Silent and fast as a phantom, he dashed toward the source—his boots whispering across the cracked terrain with each swift stride. Winds howled low around him, dragging dust in playful spirals as if the planet itself knew something was coming.
He crested the final hill—and then he saw them.
A pitiful legion of rock demons stretched out before him like a festival of despair. Hundreds of thousands of grey-skinned Earth Imps, their skin mottled with soot and grime, squirmed within a makeshift encampment of tents and broken siege gear. They held bows made from splintered wood, swords rusted with brown-red flakes, and leather scraps barely hanging on to their crystallized bodies. The air stank of anxiety and piss-soaked fear. The chorus of metal clanking against itself was constant, chaotic, like a broken symphony played by terrified children. Most of them twitched or trembled, stealing glances at shadows like they expected death to leap from the dark.
And then—
«The Trial of the Bad is about to begin. Completion of the trial's objective is based on the defeat of this world's champion and his army while leading the provided units in battle.»
The voice of the Prime Realm System echoed inside his mind with clinical neutrality, like it hadn't just thrown him into a suicide mission with a band of bony, leather-clad rock imps.
"What units? These are my men? Perpetually absurd," Luda scoffed inwardly.
He dropped from his vantage point and landed silently behind a crooked-helmeted Earth Imp, who let out a screech so shrill it could've cracked glass. The poor creature spun, and upon locking eyes with Luda—eyes glowing like two green eclipsed suns—the Imp backpedaled so hard he fell on his back and pissed himself. A spreading stain soaked through his gray rags.
"Pl-pl-please, don't kill me! I's not a fightah!" the Imp squealed, voice trembling like a child caught stealing.
Luda didn't speak at first. He simply loomed.
His stare, ice-cold and unreadable beneath the mask, was enough to freeze the very breath in the Imp's lungs. The faint golden aura around him pulsed with a cold, regal menace. The Imps nearby began to hush, as if they, too, felt the unnatural weight his presence dragged into the camp.
"Stand up," he finally said, his tone sharp and commanding. "If you're a part of my army, then today… you are a warrior."
The Imp blinked, utterly confused, mouth hanging open like a broken door hinge. Then, realization struck him like lightning.
"Wut? Wait! You're da General sent by da Gods?"
"Sent by the Gods? Tell me, who are you all?"
The Imp's voice cracked as he stood on unsteady legs. "I-I'm Tobias, sir. I'm just one o' da many slaves you see here who escape from da lands of Amaymon, to da north."
"Runaway slaves?"
"Dat's right, sir. We took da chance ta escape da fate o' becomin' shadows, but I ain't think I's would end up fightin' no war jus' ta keep breathin'."
"Freedom has never been free."
Tobias's lip trembled. "Oy, that's why we prayed ta da Archons for a miracle. Neva' thought they'd hear someone like me… someone from Infernia's Realm."
Luda squinted behind his mask. "The True Deities? Why are the Outer Gods answering prayers in the Hells?"
"I's don't rightly know… but they said they'd send us a General—someone ta lead us against da Sun Eater himself. Cardinal King Catcha Freemen."
"Big talk for an alias," Luda thought.
"Da King of da North..." Tobias continued, "He famous, sir. Done won countless wars. Got his name written in blood an' stars both."
Luda's gaze swept over the trembling mass of demons. 360,000 souls, barely armed, barely brave, and not a drop of mana among them. A handful of horses stood to the side, malnourished and jittery. The morale? Nonexistent.
He focused his ears, tuning into the ambient whispers spreading among the imps.
"Damn it, we're going to die. I knew running was a bad idea."
"I only ran 'cause I saw you all run! Ain't nobody had a plan, I'da just laid low."
"Please, Lords of Infernia… save us from da darkness of da shadows…"
Luda turned back to Tobias, who was now awkwardly brushing off the piss-stain from his pants with the edge of his shirt, avoiding eye contact like a child caught lying.
Disgust.
It boiled in Luda's gut. Rage stirred—this was the army the True Deities had seen fit to give him?
That emotional upheaval triggered something deep within him—a mental snap.
Without warning, a chilling aura radiated outward. [Ready to Die: Suicide Thoughts] activated. The Ultra Skill flickered through the camp like an invisible scream. Embedded with [Mind Domination] and [Soul Domination], it seized control of the Earth Imps' very instincts. In a heartbeat, their fidgeting ceased. Jaws clenched. Eyes narrowed. Spines straightened. Fear evaporated.
As if puppets snapped upright on command, they all stood at attention—each one forced into the posture of a trained warrior.
"Huh? Does my Ultra Skill work on my team as well?" Luda mused. "Thinking about it… this is a good thing. They are of better use this way."
Then it hit him. A signal—more like a static burst scraping across his senses.
Luda's [Sense Presence] triggered like a fire alarm in his mind. He spun, snatched the reins of a nearby horse, and vaulted into the saddle, riding hard toward a nearby hill for a vantage point. The demon steed snorted and kicked as Luda spurred it forward, the Earth Imps trailing behind like ants below.
"Know thy enemy and know thyself."
As he crested the ridge, a shadow was cast over the valley.
Across the distant field, three kilometers away, marched an army unlike anything these pitiful Imps could comprehend. 700,000 soldiers—each cloaked in roiling black energy. Shadow Soldiers. Their synchronized march kicked up tremors, a black tide of destruction in motion. Each one carried an A-Class mana signature, their bodies pulsing like mini black holes of death.
"I don't see their leader among them," he noted, "but I know that's his presence I feel. Catcha Freemen…"
Suddenly, something inside his soul stirred.
A low, gluttonous growl gurgled from within his gut—not physical, but primal. His Soul Core quaked. Something inside him… hungered. A cruel, monstrous craving for victory. A greed for domination.
"Outnumbered and out-muscled. Who set up such an awful test?"
"I wonder how Xiro would tackle this… I'm sure he'd say something annoying like, 'I'ma win without losing a soldier.'"
A smile—small but sharp—crept under his mask.
"That's what I'll do. I'll win this with all of my soldiers still standing."
That bold thought reminded him—he had a powerful tool. A skill that could turn drops into oceans.
His [Dominus Avaritiae].
Closing his eyes, Luda gathered Bio Mana at his core, feeling it churn like molten gold. Tiny sparks floated from his body, swarming into his palm like fireflies. Then came the twist—he added his stored Divinity Mana. Instantly, the energy bloomed with a sacred glow, white and golden tendrils lashing out like angelic vines.
"Divine Yang Mana Arts: Vocational School!"
He crushed the sphere. It burst into radiant shards, each one zipping like shooting stars into the Earth Imps below. The sky flickered as the spell took root. In an instant, each Imp was transformed, glowing faintly with celestial energy, their auras flaring into high A-Class beacons. The air shimmered with the weight of holy power now encasing their bodies.
It was awe-inspiring. Terrifying.
"That's better. Still incredibly draining when mana fusing Divinity Mana, though."
"I'm going to need time to replenish that much back. Still, I'm glad Xiro and I figured out more about these Ascended Manas."
His mind flashed back to our shared days in the Trial of the Thriller—how we'd uncovered the secrets of the two Ascended Manas: Divinity Mana, and the rarest of them all—Omnis Mana. Their purity made them absurdly potent… and absurdly dangerous.
"If casting Divinity Mana didn't damage Xiro because of his demon lineage, I'm sure he would abuse its usage. Still… it just gave my army a fighting chance."
And with that thought… the war drums began to beat in the distance.
The Trial of the Bad… had truly begun.
The twin suns had already begun to separate from each other's touch, casting long streaks of gold and crimson across the battlefield. Luda, perched high on the ridgeline overlooking the valley, narrowed his eyes. His gaze swept the terrain below, noting every dip and rise, the natural choke points carved by wind and erosion. The valley stretched like an open wound between two jagged cliffs, the perfect killing floor. He muttered a quote from The Art of War, as if breathing life into the lesson itself:
"Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak."
With calculated poise, he ordered a fraction of his army—only two hundred Imps—to march forward and take position dead center in the basin. They moved in quiet unison, no chants, no bravado. Just the eerie calm of soldiers told to bait death itself. Meanwhile, Luda placed twin weapon-summoning portals atop the cliffs that flanked the valley, their spiraling rings of condensed Yang Mana glowing faintly under the waning sunlight. Then, as if carried by the whisper of war drums, he mounted his steed and descended solo toward the battlefield, the hoofbeats of his black stallion echoing like distant thunder.
The stench hit first—death and rot, thick like wet wool wrapped around the lungs. The Shadow Soldiers emerged from the dusk like ghosts from a fever dream, their bodies blanketed in ebony armor that seemed to drink in the light. Yellow-tinted mana leaked from their hollow eyes, and with each synchronized step, the very earth beneath them groaned. a haunting chorus that wasn't heard so much as felt—a scream stitched into the nerves.
Luda stood firm, coat fluttering in the wind behind him. He raised a single hand. "[Ready to Die: Suicide Thoughts]," he whispered.
The words weren't a command—they were a death sentence. Mana rippled outward in an invisible pulse of emotional gravity. It hit the enemy line like a silent bell tolling the end.
Dozens—then hundreds—of Shadow Soldiers stopped mid-march. Their movements locked in place, trembling. In a horrifying ripple, they began to turn their weapons inward. Spearheads pierced throats. Blades carved through torsos. Shadow after shadow blinked out of existence, dissolving into motes of black light that vanished into the wind. The battlefield was silent save for the sound of death performed as ritual.
With the enemy stunned and unraveling, Luda signaled skyward.
A sharp twang of a bowstring split the air. Dozens followed.
Arrows rained like divine judgment. Each projectile carried a glint of embedded Yang Mana, sizzling on impact as they impaled the shades still under the Ultra Skill's influence. Screeches of twisted agony rang out as the dark army buckled under the storm. But Luda's brow furrowed. Despite thousands falling, the tide wasn't slowing. More shadows emerged from the darkness beyond the valley like ants from a disturbed nest.
He whispered, "It's time."
"Fall back!" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
He turned his mount and galloped back into the heart of the valley, his silhouette framed by firelight and fading mana trails. Behind him, the shadows surged, a wave of ink-black doom chasing his heels. At the precise midpoint, just as the darkness funneled into the valley's tightest corridor, Luda flared his wrist and triggered the summoning portals.
They answered in kind.
Thousands of blazing Yang Mana spears rained from the sky like solar javelins. The sound of impact was a thunderous cascade, as each spear seared through the bottlenecked army with divine ferocity. Limbs were incinerated. Armor melted to mist. Screams became smoke. The shadows, once an endless tide, were being ripped apart by holy fire.
As the last spears fell, Luda raised his blade and charged. "Now!"
His Imps—empowered, hardened, and mad with purpose—flooded into the fray. They cut through the weakened remnants with savage precision. Each Imp moved like a blade honed over centuries, slicing down shadow after shadow. Some took down ten before their next breath. The ground grew slick with black ichor and sizzling mana. The scent of hot metal, scorched dirt, and blood hung thick in the air.
And then, the battlefield cracked beneath reality.
A pressure dropped over the valley like a meteor from the void. The ground trembled. Hills shuddered. The very light bent.
A pool of thick Yin Mana erupted in the center of the valley, rippling out in an oily circle of pure darkness. It spread beneath the dead and the dying, curling into the shapes of something unholy. From this abyss, six figures rose—five towering Shadow Soldiers…and one far more dangerous.
Catcha Freemen had arrived.
He was a sight, even memory flinched trying to recall him perfectly. Standing at 193 centimeters (6'3"), the demon looked like he'd waltzed out of a fashion show for apocalyptic cowboys with his black shirt and slacks. A crisp, white vest lay snug over his lean chest, red belts crossing it like an executioner's harness. Jet-black hooves crushed bone beneath them, and a row of curved, ashen spikes jutted out from his spine like a demon's mohawk.
A white hat, impossibly clean, rested between two outward-stretched horns—each tip fading into a smoky ash gray. His skin, light brown and cracked like sun-dried mud, glowed faintly where blue mana veins pulsed under the surface. His eyes—cold, glowing blue Xs—sliced across the battlefield with quiet judgment.
Luda scoffed under his breath, "Eh... it looks cooler when Xi does it."
Catcha scanned the battlefield, his face contorting with disbelief as he watched the Earth Imps—former slaves of his own empire—dismembering his elite shadows like seasoned executioners. He rubbed his eyes with clawed fingers.
"Hey, over there," he said, his voice thick with an old country drawl, "I can't sense much mana in you, but I do feel them magick threads connected to them lil' gremlins. Who are you, mortal? The Paradiso Realm done revived the Celestians to stir the pot again?"
Luda remained composed, replying evenly, "You speak as if Celestials are extinct. The nation of Braye would beg to differ."
Catcha tilted his head, amused. "Celestial, you say? Oh, the watered-down mortals, huh?" He chuckled dryly. "That makes this even more impressive. So, you're from the Inner Realms? Here on your Archon's orders to finally end me?"
Luda didn't answer. His silence was a dagger, sharp and deliberate.
Catcha smirked. "Yeah, that's it. But they sent a weakling this time. One with just a hint of Divinity Mana, too."
Luda's thoughts whispered like smoke. "He has information that could be useful. Too bad he'll die before I can ask him."
The demon's grin widened. "Although it's been a few decades, I remember the last one had at least a decent mana signature. Yours feels about as strong as these Imps used to be."
Luda's expression didn't budge. "Weak, huh?"
"Did you share your power with 'em?" Catcha circled slightly. "Thought that'd give 'em a chance, did you? Well... let's see if it can."
His arm rose.
His eyes flared with golden light as he invoked his Ultra Skill. "Feed the black within—[Soul Food], activate."
The battlefield went dark.
Shadows twisted like ink in water, and from the yawning shade beneath his fallen army, deep ebony tendrils shot upward into the sky. They waved like arms seeking salvation—or damnation. Within seconds, the pool erupted in black bloom, birthing more Shadow Warriors, completely replacing his losses in a heartbeat. Worse still, Luda watched in silent fury as his own fallen Imps began to rise… their flesh bubbling, their eyes drained of thought, now puppets of Catcha's abominable will.
Still, Luda didn't panic.
The Trial of the Thriller had made him intimately familiar with necromancy. With cold resolve, he signaled his first unit into a tighter defensive formation. Then, raising a banner high, he called in the cavalry. They poured in from the ridgelines—both sides—riders wielding lances and fire, crashing into Catcha's forces like avalanches of divine steel.
Catcha raised a brow as the tide shifted again.
"The Archons must be desperate," he thought, "to send a mortal with Divinity Mana."
Then, he turned to his five silent Shadow Marshals. With a single nod, they stepped forward, finally entering the dance.
The once narrow confines of the canyon, where the fight had begun in the depths of the Sun Eater's domain, had been stretched wide open, carved apart by the unrelenting chaos of clashing forces. What was once a two-hundred-meter trench now yawned open across half a kilometer, the jagged cliffs scorched and shattered by spells, sabers, and the deadly art of shadow manipulation. The valley floor had become a smoking ruin of cratered earth and broken stone, soaked with demon blood that steamed in the high heat of burning mana. The air was thick—so thick it felt like a living thing—choked with the sharp tang of ozone, sulfur, scorched metal, and the musky rot of fallen demons. Imps screamed through the din, their jagged weapons clashing against the ethereal blades of the Shadow Warriors. It was war made physical—metal against magic, flesh against shadow. The clanging of steel, the shattering of bones, and the arcane roar of displaced mana had created a soundtrack more hellish than anything you'd ever heard.
Then Catcha made his move.
Out from his Shade Pool, a black bog of magical filth in the shape of a summoning seal, the Cardinal King relocated his Shadow Marshals. Each one erupted from the ground like ink-stained ghosts, towering figures of condensed Yin energy wrapped in armor of nightmare. With crescent-shaped sabers and chain-whips singing through the air, they tore through Luda's infantrymen like predators let loose on cattle. One swing from a Marshal would erase entire squads of Imps, their bodies ripped apart before they could even scream. Even Luda's superior tactics, formations, and coordination couldn't fully hold back that kind of raw, nightmarish might.
Still… Luda hadn't moved.
From the heart of the battlefield, his blue coat swayed in the winds like a divine statue. He watched Catcha carefully. Saw that the demon had rooted himself in the center of the bog and hadn't taken a step.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Guess I'm going to join the fight before him," he muttered to himself. "Means I can't waste time or MP with these lackeys."
With a calmness that defied the chaos surrounding him, Luda stood atop the saddle of his horse. The animal didn't flinch, as if it too understood the moment. Luda closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and extended his right hand. The particles around him began to shimmer. Not only Bio Mana—spiritons and magitons responded to his call. They spiraled into his palm like willing soldiers, the space around him bending slightly as if the very laws of nature had paused to watch. The pressure of it rolled across the battlefield like a tidal wave, silencing the clashes for one fleeting breath.
A brilliant, dual fan-bladed weapon forged itself in the void above his hand. Twin axe blades fanned out from each end of a long handle, delicate yet impossibly massive, glowing with radiant spirit energy that refused to be ignored.
"Shine brightest at your zenith…" Luda whispered. "[Spirit Weapon: Meridian Goddess]."
Even Catcha, half-veiled behind his pool of shadows, felt the tremble of fear start to slip into his spine.
"He can summon this amount of mana? Must be his true power…" Catcha muttered, voice dry, eyes darting for any trick—any falsehood.
The light off Luda's newly forged weapon caught the setting sunlights, refracted it, and multiplied it until it looked like he held a small star. Then he vanished.
To all but the gods themselves, Luda ceased to exist for a moment. And in that same breath, he was already there—before the first Shadow Marshal.
The Marshal barely had time to widen his eyes.
The Meridian Goddess cleaved downward with surgical precision, splitting the Marshal clean down the middle in a flash of light. The twin halves didn't fall—they peeled apart in perfect symmetry, like pages in a book fluttering in the wind. The body evaporated into a mist of dark Yin energy as Luda stood unmoved in its place.
Another breath. Another Marshal.
Gone.
He became a blur, each movement a burst of violent speed that defied logic. Five Marshals fell in the time it took the wind to catch up. When it did, the shockwave snapped through the forest like a whip, flattening trees, uprooting rocks, and throwing Shadow Warriors to the ground like dolls.
Catcha's face twisted into disbelief. He'd never seen his Marshals defeated—especially not like that.
But he didn't have time to mourn them.
Luda appeared behind him in a flash of cerulean. His axe swung for Catcha's neck with a blow that cracked the air itself, warping space from the sheer force.
But Catcha wasn't a Cardinal King for nothing.
He turned with a hiss and summoned a saber, veins of lightning wrapped around its onyx core, catching Luda's attack just before it landed. The two blades collided with a sound like a thunderclap exploding in a metal tunnel. Sparks of golden mana and violet electricity screamed from the impact, turning the air between them into a web of pressure.
"You're strong for your kind, boy."
"All warfare is based on deception," Luda answered calmly, pushing against Catcha's blade. "If this is the best of the Sun Eater, then consider me unimpressed."
Their weapons separated with a burst of energy, launching both combatants backward. Luda landed in a crouch, barely disturbed. Catcha skidded a few meters, boots digging into the soil.
The battle behind them raged on—Imps screaming, shadows slashing, souls vanishing into mana—but Luda's eyes were only on Catcha now.
"I will admit," Catcha growled, teeth bared. "You're undoubtedly the strongest M-Cee ever to challenge me. But how long can that power protect these slaves?"
He raised a hand to summon his fallen Marshals again, his palm glowing with black mana.
But nothing came.
The spell fizzled out.
Catcha blinked, confused.
"Why can't I summon them back?"
Luda stepped forward, letting his Spirit Weapon rest against his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with an eerie green light.
"If you're looking to have them join us again, that won't be possible. My Meridian Goddess absorbs souls and spiritual energy. And your Shadow Warriors… they're powered by Astral Mana."
The demon's jaw slackened. That hit harder than any blow. His brows tightened as he tried again—this time with both hands—but still, no Shadows returned. Just silence and dying echoes.
The fear on Catcha's face was evident—loud.
Luda saw it.
And something inside him stirred.
His aura, once bright and warm, now flickered with something darker. Cobalt veins of mana writhed around him, and the air began to pulse—deep and angry, like a heartbeat beneath the skin of the world.
"Tell me, Sun Eater… do you take this long to consume all lights before you?"
Catcha growled, trying to hide the crack in his confidence. "Finally decided to show your hand? You will make a wonderful replacement Marshal."
"I'm a King. Not someone you can order around."
"You and your men will all be shadows soon."
"You'll be nothing but an echo in the dark."
The sky responded to Luda's words.
A blinding surge of magical pressure erupted from him, hurling dust and stone into the air as if the realm of Infernia herself flinched. His aura blazed into a force of cobalt and cerulean, mixing with hyper-green mana leaking from his eyes in vertical streams. The light twisted in tight cyclones around him, warping gravity in his wake. Even the twin suns dimmed slightly.
The very fabric of space around him trembled.
Catcha staggered back, clutching his saber. The shadows that once clung to him like loyal dogs began to wither under Luda's overwhelming presence. For the first time in his long life, the Sun Eater realized he was facing not a mortal... but a force of nature.
A King cloaked in radiance—and wrath.
And yet, the scariest thing of all… was that the light wasn't pure.
No, Luda's brilliance wasn't holy.
It was vengeful. Unrelenting. Cruel.
He had become the kind of light that could erase anything… even darkness itself.
And Catcha?
Catcha was starting to understand what it truly meant… to fear the sun.
[End of Chapter]
[1] Year Five.